When her next break rolled around, Honor found her in the alley behind the Nightingale, sitting on a pile of old crates in comfortable silence with Bea while they passed a cigarette back and forth. In the distance, they could hear music, and Bea hummed along, occasionally singing the lyrics under her breath. Vivian tipped her head back, staring at the way the moon edged the clouds with silver. The night air smelled of trash and worse, and the chill of it made her throat ache, but she didn’t care. It still felt glorious.
They hadn’t left the door open behind them; the city was too quiet tonight, and they knew better than to risk the sounds of a party spilling out into the street where any curious cop passing by might hear it. So when the door opened, they turned immediately, a burst of sound and light spilling over them and briefly making the walls of the alley glow gold.
Honor, silhouetted in the doorway, surveyed them for a moment before letting the door fall closed behind her. “Great set tonight, Bluebird,” she said. “That fella I saw lurking around the bandstand wasn’t scouting new talent, was he?”
“I wish,” Bea said, shaking her head. “Just a little puppy dog looking all hopeful. I told him the bank’s closed and sent him packing. I don’t think he’ll make any trouble over it.”
“You let me know if he does, and I’ll have Benny or Saul give him a talking-to. Can’t let anyone mess with our songbird.” Honor was back to her usual self. But she still hesitated before she turned to Vivian. “I hear I have you to thank for catching a problem with our gin order.”
Vivian ground out the cigarette against the wall behind her. “I don’t think that new fella’s going to cut it behind the bar.”
Honor sighed. “They never do, do they? No one can keep up with our Danny-boy.”
“He hits on all sixes, that’s for sure.” Bea hopped down from the crates and stretched, though she glanced between Honor and Vivian warily while she did. She knew what had happened by now. “Time for me to get back on the bandstand. You coming, Viv?”
“In a minute,” Vivian said, not moving. She didn’t think Honor had come out just to talk about the gin. “Go knock ’em dead, Bluebird.”
The silence stretched through the alley after Bea was gone, chased by a cold breeze and the sound of two cats fighting in the distance.
“Guess I owe you a drink, for that catch,” Honor said at last.
“I don’t need a drink,” Vivian said softly, standing as well, though she kept her distance. “But I could use your help with something.”
“Depends on what it is.”
Trust Honor not to agree without laying out terms, even now. It almost made Vivian want to laugh. “A letter. I need help writing a letter that I’m going to convince a lousy fella to sign. And it needs to be airtight. I figure you’d be good at that sort of thing.” She took a deep breath. “And like you said. You owe me.” They both knew she wasn’t talking about the booze order.
“That’s true.” Honor gave her a considering look. “All right, pet. Come inside, and let’s see what we can do.”
THIRTY-FIVE
This time, when Bea let her in at the back door of the Buchanans’ house, she didn’t slink from hall to hall or peer around corners. She walked straight to Huxley Buchanan’s study, Bea at her side. Vivian knew where she had left the letters, and she suspected that no one had done anything about them in the last two days.
She kept her head down in the room itself, though. Those memories were still too raw. And she had liked Huxley Buchanan in the few minutes she had known him, in spite of everything she had learned about him since.
“Is it there?” Bea asked from the doorway, where she was keeping an eye on the hall.
Vivian could hear a few voices in the distance, but none of them sounded like they were coming near. She didn’t waste any time, though. Kneeling behind the desk, she let out a relieved breath when she found the drawer of letters still untouched. It made part of her simmer withanger—had the cops bothered to look through his things at all?—but there wasn’t time for that.
It didn’t take her more than a minute to find what she was looking for. Vivian read it through twice, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth, to make sure she had remembered it correctly. The letters from Honor’s mother were there, too. She hesitated a moment, then pocketed those as well. There was no telling what Mrs. Buchanan or Corny would do if they found them. And if it was her mother, she’d have wanted to keep them. Honor could decide what to do with them herself.
Then she stood and walked to the sideboard, examining the different bottles, uncorking the cut-glass decanters and sniffing their contents.
Smiling, grimly satisfied, she joined Bea at the doorway. “Ready?”
Bea’s lips kicked up at the corners. “Feels like a good day to quit this damn job.”
“You’re wasted here, anyway,” Vivian agreed. “The only place you belong is on stage. Where do you think he is?”
“Still in bed, the lazy owl,” Bea said, shaking her head. “But that probably works even better for you, doesn’t it?”
They didn’t bother knocking when they reached Corny Rokesby’s bedroom, just walked right in. He was sitting up in bed, still in his pajamas, his red hair a mess around his head while he yawned his way through a cup of coffee. When they walked in, he jumped, then cursed loudly as it splashed all over his lap.
“Goddamn,” he yelped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Who are—” He broke off, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Vivian. “You.”
“Me,” she said, smiling as Bea closed the door behind them. “Hi again, Mr. Rokesby. Late night gambling? Or were you out with the Gold Coast Boys again?” She tossed his appointment book onto the bed as she spoke.
He glanced at it; when he looked back at her, his eyes were snappingwith rage. “You know I could report you for stealing, don’t you, you stupid bird?”
